Fever Pitch
by wildsky
Summary: Oneshot. A heat wave in Metropolis triggers a different kind of burn… Rated M for a very good reason. Clois.


**Disclaimer: I don't own 'em (unless they're originals). Please don't sue me. It's **_**so**_** not worth it.**

**A/N: **Smut alert! _This is rated M for a reason_ and if I could label it NC-17 on this site, I would. I wrote this piece ages ago for the 'heat' challenge at Gumboot Mafia. After seeing "Requiem", I decided I needed to share the Clois love.

**Fever Pitch**

"Oh my God, that feels incredible…" she sighed, letting out a soft moan that seemed to arc along his nerves like electricity. His breath whispered against skin that had flushed a delicate rose. A fine sheen of perspiration covered her entire body, making her shine under the light streaming through the open windows.

His gaze roamed over bare skin, taking in the way her eyes drifted closed, the curve of her bottom lip as her teeth tugged at it. Every one of his senses was attuned to her. The sultry scent that permeated the apartment, the cadence of her voice… His eyes followed the line of her body as she breathed in and out, sliding from the pulse point in her throat down to the swell of her breasts, straining against the thin material that hid them from his view. Then lower…

"Clark."

Jarred out of his mental meanderings, Clark Kent found the object of his fantasy looking back over her shoulder at him and if the amused tilt of one eyebrow was anything to go by, she knew precisely what he'd been staring at. Clark felt his cheeks warm and cleared his throat, drawing in a deep breath to get back to work when Lois straightened and turned away from the window to face him, flicking her long hair back behind her shoulders.

"A little harder this time," she instructed him, her lips kicking up at the corners. Clark just rolled his eyes and nodded, feeling his cheeks warm up as the testosterone in his system took the words in an entirely different direction to the one she meant. Thankfully, Lois didn't pursue the matter and simply let out a long, low moan of relief when he started expelling cold air again – a task he'd been performing for the past twenty minutes.

How had he ended up as Lois Lane's personal air conditioning unit? Simple.

It had started out innocently enough. They'd both gotten leads on the same story during the worst heat wave in the history of Metropolis. She'd complained that it wasn't fair that he had superpowers he could use to give him an edge and he'd bet her he could beat her to the punch the old-fashioned way. She'd countered and bet that he couldn't.

The prize? The loser became the winner's slave for forty-eight hours.

Needless to say, he'd lost. Though somehow, as he stared at the honey-hued siren leaning back against the window sill like a voyeur's dream come to life, he had to remind himself of that fact. As her property, as she'd put it, she'd ordered him to escort her home and he'd figured she was cooking up something demeaning for him to do.

She'd definitely surprised him with her request. Never let it be said that Lois was predictable.

"All right, Smallville," she'd said with a teasing smile as she'd emerged from her bedroom after getting changed. "Blow me."

Clark had swallowed, a significant amount of blood making an abrupt turn southward as he realized what she was wearing. Or rather, what she _wasn't_.

Chloe had mentioned that she'd talked Lois into buying 'a Hilton' – the kind of bikini you wore to look good in rather than swim in. Lois had been about to put it back on the rack until Chloe stopped her, insisting that she looked great in it. And privately, Clark couldn't have agreed more as he'd watched her move across the room.

Now, with her head thrown back to take full advantage of the stream of cool air he was producing, her hair was refusing to behave in the heat and the chestnut cascade was a sweaty, windblown tangle. The tawny material of the bikini hugged her curves in all the right places, leaving little to the imagination. She looked like the sexy star of some B-grade jungle movie and that was fine by him.

He liked the jungle. Ask anyone.

Lois smiled to herself as she watched him redden under his tan, rather pleased with the view he presented as well. Fully clothed, Clark had always been rather impressive, despite the predilection for plaid – all hard muscle and height. He'd told her once that he didn't feel temperature extremes but she hadn't really believed it until Metropolis had turned into a slow cooker. The man had shown up at work in a full business suit and hadn't so much as broken a sweat. She'd been boiling over in a skirt and blouse just from looking at him.

Now, in a cosy apartment that had plenty of windows but no functioning air-conditioning since it had broken three days ago, Clark had stripped down to his jeans. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair, the pose giving Lois a long look at the muscle definition in his arms as he continued exhaling. Not that she didn't already know what lay hidden beneath the conservative suits and farm-boy modesty. Their first meeting was firmly emblazoned on her memory.

If anything, it just gave her the opportunity to compare him to his teenage self and the modern version was definitely leading the field. His entire body seemed to have hardened, the last vestiges of adolescence chased away by five years of travelling the world and subsequently saving it on a regular basis.

Actually, she was surprised he'd managed to sit in one place for the better part of half an hour without picking up any distress calls. Then again, his attention seemed firmly fixed on her. She'd noted with a small thrill the way his blue eyes followed her across the room when she'd first walked out in the swimsuit. She was thankful that she didn't blush easily.

They'd been dancing around each other for months. Well, on her part it had been months. She hadn't been consciously aware of her emotional state regarding him until recently.

Falling for the small-town-guy-slash-superhero had proven to be all too easy. In fact, by the time she realized what was happening it was too late. She'd grown up on army bases, surrounded by men like her father who smoked cigars and drank whisky. She knew how to pal around with men like that, how to relate to them. She was comfortable in that sphere.

Clark was an entirely different animal – a study in contrasts. It had always amazed her that such strength could dwell within someone so gentle, so giving. He was selfless in a way she knew she wasn't and probably never would be. He carried the weight of the world on his shoulders on a daily basis yet he asked for nothing in return.

In fact, she often wondered how he could stand going through life pretending to be bumbling and mild-mannered when she knew it was all a facade. For her, the charade would have been impossible to maintain. The Clark she'd met in a cornfield didn't slouch or wear horn-rimmed glasses. The Clark sitting in her apartment in nothing but jeans certainly didn't.

It was times like this, powers aside, that Lois was glad she'd gotten the golden ticket that gave her an all-access pass to the real Clark Kent. Sure, he was a good reporter and the people-pleasing demeanour he presented to the world at large was nice enough, but she preferred the quietly confident version that joked with her and competed with her, that let her punch him in the arm and call him 'Smallville' – a teasing insult that had morphed into an endearment somewhere along the way.

It was weird. If somebody had told her all those years ago that she was going to fall head-over-heels in love with a guy who could pull off tights, she'd have told them to have another drink and make it a double.

Lois was an impulsive kind of girl. She pursued her stories with zeal and her instincts rarely steered her wrong. She could stow away on a plane or beat up a bodyguard twice her size. Yet she had no idea how to make a move on a pseudo-geeky Kryptonian who wore his underwear on the outside.

It was frustrating, to say the least.

_Just kiss him_, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered coaxingly. It would be so easy to walk over there and press her lips to his. So easy to sink onto his lap and let her body do the talking. She'd never been that great at verbalizing her feelings anyway.

Clark's gaze roamed over her yet again, his jeans feeling uncomfortably tight as he took in the seemingly endless inches of exposed skin. She had the most fascinating curves he'd ever seen. His fingers itched to trace the shape of her, to pick her up and back her into the wall.

_Just kiss her_, his subconscious urged him. It would be so easy to walk over there and press his lips to hers. So easy to pull her onto his lap and let his body do the talking. Would it be so wrong to be selfish and claim Lois Lane for his own?

Blue eyes wandered of their own accord, the seldom-indulged devil inside hoping that she'd catch him and do something about it. He took it all in. The soft hint of sweat that made her body glint in the light, the way her hazel eyes turned golden in the sun. The slim waist that flared out to generous hips and down further to impossibly long, toned legs, all encased in smooth tanned skin… His gaze lifted once again, his imagination filling in what the bikini hid from view.

Butterfly wings brushed her insides and it was all Lois could do not to squirm under his perusal. Sure, she'd caught him checking her out from time to time, but he'd never stared at her openly with blatant hunger written across his features. It gave his eyes a smoky quality she'd never seen before, as if the burning inside was too hot to be contained.

Then again, there was every chance that could become literal and her apartment could end up in flames.

_C'est la vie_, right?

All heat forgotten except for that which lay between them, Lois let herself return the favour without reservation for the first time since he'd smiled at her in the office and that simple, innocuous gesture had made her heart leap and realization set in.

She drank in the sight of him; tousled black hair, chiselled features and those smoky-blue eyes. Her mouth went dry and her teeth tugged at her lower lip as she memorized every line - every sculpted, muscular inch of succulent skin. Her gaze drifted downwards, over the defined muscles of his abdomen towards his navel and further south, following the dusting of dark hair that disappeared behind the low-riding waistline of his jeans, which were currently straining to contain a rather impressive bulge.

Lois' teeth sank deeper into her bottom lip, feeling warmth pool low in her abdomen at the evidence of his desire for her, which he didn't even try to disguise.

Clark's entire body tightened as Lois looked her fill, painfully aware of the way her breasts rose and fell with each breath, listening to the heart that was picking up speed with each passing moment. He watched her nipples tauten against the tawny fabric and felt himself harden in response, his blood racing towards his groin. God, he could almost taste the salt on her skin… He hadn't even realized he'd stopped breathing until he looked at her face again.

"I need a drink," she murmured, her voice throaty with pent-up longing. She walked away from the window towards the small kitchen, leaving Clark to drag in a deep breath and try to compose himself. He got to his feet and turned to watch the way her hips swayed enticingly as she moved. His eyes fixed on her tempting backside, on the material that obscured the flesh from his view, and had to quash the impulse to use his x-ray vision.

He had to do something. He couldn't keep going on like this, making do with surreptitious stares and fantasies. He _needed_ her – he needed Lois Lane. Needed her on a level that was so much more than physical. She challenged him and played with him, comforted him and encouraged him.

The sun gave him power but she gave him strength.

To be so close yet so far… it was torture, plain and simple. He needed to have her with him when he went to sleep at night, to kiss her when he woke. He needed to touch her and be touched, to think of her and know he was in her thoughts. He needed to argue with her and know they were solid enough to withstand it. He needed all of that.

Every time Superman made a rescue – and every time he was too late – she was there. She soothed his fears and eased his guilt. Loud, determined, bossy Lois Lane.

_You've got me? Who's got you?_

The words had echoed in his mind more than once and even now they made him smile at the unintentional irony. The answer? _She_ had him. For every time he'd saved her, she'd saved him right back in one way or another.

Lois poured herself a glass of ice water, cursing herself for a coward.

"You want one?" she asked, glancing up at him. He nodded and moved towards the kitchen counter, his jeans still tented, and she pursed her lips, trying to concentrate on the feel of the cold water jug in her hand instead. She slid the second glass across the counter towards him and he lifted it to his lips, never taking his eyes off her. Her attention wandered to his throat as he swallowed, fixing on his Adam's apple as it bobbed gently, and she stubbornly tried to tell herself it was ridiculous to think the simple act of drinking was sexy. Her fingers twitched, the urge to reach out and touch his skin washing over her, and she clenched her fists for a moment to dispel it.

Clark watched every nuance, every flicker of expression on her face. He knew what was holding her back. It was the same reasoning that had inhibited him for so long. They were friends – best friends – and crossing this line would change that forever. It would either give them everything they wanted or leave their relationship in ruins. Even now they were dangerously close to the edge – dancing on the precipice, as it were.

More than anything, he wanted to jump off. He'd catch her. As corny as it sounded, he'd never let her fall – unless she was falling for him.

Another blast of warm air invaded the apartment, raising the temperature another notch, and Lois groaned, dipping her fingers into the glass and smoothing the cool water across her chest and over the back of her neck. Clark stilled for a moment, his eyes following the path her hand had taken. He watched as the droplets meandered downwards towards the valley between her breasts and felt another surge of heat that had nothing to do with the weather wash over him.

Lois felt his gaze on her, sensed the tension in him as surely as if they were skin-to-skin, and suddenly couldn't bear drawing out the fever pitch between them any longer. She was tired of subsisting on nothing but friendship and the fantasies her imagination conjured for her at night.

She couldn't let him go. Not him. The others before him – Wes, Oliver, AC – they'd been real but they hadn't been hers. Not the way Clark was. And she was his. She'd fought it, railed against it… but it hadn't changed the simple truth of the matter. Whatever happened, if she let Clark Kent slip through her fingers because of her own stubborn fears, she'd regret it for the rest of her life.

He was it. The one. And for some reason she couldn't fathom, she was it for him as well.

She lifted her gaze to his and golden eyes met blue in a moment of clear sensual understanding.

It was the look in his eyes, the smouldering intensity she saw in the cerulean depths, that told her there was no going back from this. It was going to happen. _They_ were going to happen, right here, right now. The certain knowledge that the invisible line they'd been flirting with for so long was about to be cast aside flooded her and her pulse quickened, sending a thrill through her entire body.

They both shifted at the same moment, moving simultaneously to her left to get around the barrier of the kitchen counter. Wordlessly, wantonly, they came together and their mouths fused in reckless abandon. Clark's arms slipped around her waist, as hard and strong as steel, and her fingers tangled in the raven hair at the nape of his neck. She kissed him fiercely, passionately, matching his urgency with her own. Her tongue duelled with his in a fiery tango that left them both breathless.

A murmur of pleasure escaped her, making his lips tingle from the soft vibration. He gripped her tighter, his senses still reeling from the reality of having her in his arms, vibrant and vital and chasing away all thought of restraint. She pushed herself against him, her curves moulding themselves to the harder planes of his body as he plundered her mouth. Breathing her breath, tasting her warmth… her thigh insinuating itself between them so that his erection was pressed to her belly.

Clark tore his mouth away from hers long enough to stare into those amazing green-gold eyes, his blood rising as he took in the sultry look on her face, the way her teeth scraped her lower lip ever-so-slightly, her tongue flicking out to soothe it. He couldn't resist sampling her kisses again, his hands roaming lower, caressing the firm globes of her bottom. Her breath hitched as his fingers kneaded the curves and lifted her effortlessly, as if she were gossamer-light. Her thighs came up to wrap around his hips as he turned to deposit her on the edge of the kitchen counter.

Lois couldn't suppress a small gasp as Clark's lips slid across to the corner of her mouth, his left hand anchoring her at the small of her back while the other brushed across her stomach and moved higher, tracing the lush roundness of her breast. Heat coiled low in her belly and her breath caught in her throat as his fingers slowly explored. Even through the thin material, his touch seemed to scorch her skin. His thumb brushed across her nipple, already hard from his proximity, while his mouth kissed a blazing trail from her mouth to her throat.

So much for the mild-mannered Clark Kent. There was nothing hesitant or meek about him now.

Lois slid an arm around him and pressed her lips to his shoulder, her tongue swirling against his skin and migrating upwards, her teeth grazing his earlobe as she nipped at it. She felt Clark shudder in her grasp and let a feline smile touch her lips. She did it again, letting her tongue flick out to trace the shell of his ear, and gloried in the groan she wrought from him. She was determined to find every sensitive spot, every secret turn-on… from top to bottom.

"Lois…" he rasped, taking his hand away from her breast to reach up to the back of her neck and slowly tug on the thin ties holding the bikini in place before giving the one at her back the same treatment. The ties slithered loose and Clark curled his fingers around the front of it, tossing it aside so there was nothing between them but air. He touched his forehead to hers, his skin against hers, smoky blue eyes flashing her a look that made her shiver, before he was leaning her backwards, holding her entire weight as if it was nothing.

She arched against him, her head thrown back, her inviting lips parted on a gasp as his mouth feathered across the skin he'd exposed. Her fingers tangled in his hair, fisting in the thickness of it, as he lapped at her pearled nipple before letting his mouth close over it. She mewled beneath him as his free hand came up to worship the other breast, kneading the sensitive, pliant flesh until she was writhing in his grip.

Her thighs shifted against denim as they tightened around his waist, her hips cradling his erection, and Clark couldn't suppress the possessive growl that welled up in his throat. She was burning up in his embrace, her breath coming in soft pants, her hands outlining the muscular contours of his chest as she continued her own explorations. The pads of her fingers grazed the edge of the denim that separated them until she reached the button. She popped it open with a skilled flick and Clark's grip on her tightened convulsively.

"Boxers or briefs…?" she wondered, her voice a whisper of curiosity and challenge.

Clark's lips twitched as his mouth left the breasts still begging for his attention and brushed against her jaw. "Why don't you find out?"

Her eyebrow quirked, her lips curving upwards in a sultry smile, as she gripped the zipper and guided its descent, inch by decadent inch. She didn't look down, instead watching his grin take on a lascivious edge that sent excitement spiralling to the juncture between her thighs. He was radiating heat, the power coiled within him leashed by sheer force of will.

The devilish impulse to see what it would take to break that legendary control slid through her veins like a drug and she sat up, her tongue flicking across his lips like butterfly wings as her breasts moulded against his chest. Her hands grasped the now-gaping sides of his jeans and eased them down until he could step out of them, feeling the hard ridge of his naked erection press against her belly once it was freed.

Lois felt her pulse amp up another notch. Clark Kent had gone commando.

"Well, now…" she purred, brushing her lips teasingly against his. "Aren't you full of surprises?"

Her gaze finally dropped to where his flesh was pressed so intimately to hers and she took the turgid length of him in one hand. She heard his sharp intake of breath, felt his entire body tense, and let her fingers glide, lightly at first, barely enough to tease when she knew he needed real contact. His hips thrust instinctively towards hers and Lois captured his mouth with hers as she gave him what he wanted. His hands locked on her hips in a bruising grip, dragging her forward until she was teetering on the edge of the counter, her legs wrapped around his waist, one arm around his shoulders, her hand clasped between them.

Clark moaned into her mouth, his fingers leaving marks as control became a concept rather than a reality. His kisses turned wild, caution thrown to the wind, and Lois matched him gasp for gasp, lust for lust… Suddenly even the thin material of the bikini was too much of a barrier.

"Take them off." She growled the order, nipping at his lower lip. Fierce green-gold eyes blazed into blue and the fabric was torn away, tossed aside, leaving them skin to skin. He lifted her up, her thighs locked around him, and spun her against the opposing wall. She was drowning in the urgency of his kisses, the thrill of knowing he was finally hers, the steely strength of him holding her as if she were feather-light.

"_Clark_." It was a command and a plea in one sexy syllable – one he couldn't ignore. Not after years of fantasizing about exactly this. His last shred of self-discipline evaporated like smoke and he was inside her in one smooth thrust, her body enveloping him in liquid heat. Lois groaned into his mouth, branding him with her lips, claiming him with reckless abandon, and Clark obeyed her unspoken demand.

Lois felt the muscles in his back bunching and contracting as he plunged into her over and over, stroke after stroke, the exquisite rhythm lifting her higher with every beat of her heart. She undulated against him, writhed with him, and Clark lost himself in the feel of her.

Clark felt her teeth nip at his lower lip, her nails digging into his back. The incredible ache kept building, crooning to both of them, calling them home. Each thrust brought a new wave of heat crashing over them. He tasted her sweat-slicked skin, laved the flesh with his tongue, one hand sliding up to the twine with hers, holding it over her head. She was gasping, panting, her breathing fractured. All she could feel was him – around her, against her, inside her…

Then they were both falling, racing headlong over the edge into rapture. He heard her cry out, felt her inner muscles clenching around him in a scintillating rhythm, wresting a guttural growl from his throat. He pinned her hips against the wall for one final thrust, blazing blue eyes locking onto burning gold as he came.

Time almost seemed to stop. He watched the pleasure play out across her features as the room spun out of control, felt her slowly go boneless in his grasp. She let her forehead fall onto his shoulder as her breathing evened out… and purred.

That was the only word for it and the satisfaction that small sound conveyed triggered a ridiculously well-pleased grin – one he knew he'd never hear the end of if the woman in his arms caught sight of it.

For what seemed like a marvellous eternity, they didn't move, the enormity of what had just happened pulsing through the two of them.

"Clark…?" she finally whispered.

"Mm hmm?"

"You can put me down now," she murmured, raising her head to meet his gaze, her own dancing with languid amusement. Clark glanced down at her, realizing he was still supporting her weight against the wall, and smiled.

"I kinda like it like this," he replied softly, flexing within her in a movement that made her bite her lower lip, her eyelids drifting shut.

"How 'bout the couch then?" she suggested with a devilish quirk of her lips, enticingly swollen from his kisses. "I don't think the wall's strong enough for round two."

With a chuckle, Clark pushed away from the abused plasterboard and carried her over to the couch, still buried inside her to the hilt. He sank down onto the cushions so that she was straddling him. He brushed her hair back behind her shoulders, drinking in the sight of her naked in his lap.

Clark blinked down at the darkening bruises that marred the skin on her hips – the imprint of his fingers – and a flicker of alarm intruded on his contentment.

"Did I –"

"Read my lips, Smallville," Lois murmured, cutting him off as she stretched like a satisfied cat, giving him a view that made his mouth water. A satiated smile curved her lips. "If you hurt me, I'll let you know. Until then, keep walking on the wild side."

Clark started laughing. He couldn't help it.

Lois captured his lips with hers, beyond caring that the temperature in the apartment was almost stifling. The only heat she could feel was his, and if this was the kind of behaviour that Indian summer was going to bring out in them, then she had no objections whatsoever.


End file.
